


Prey On The Broken Hearted #ClexaWeek 2017

by Kendrene



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alpha Clarke, Alpha Lexa, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Anal Sex, Blood and Gore, Clexa Week 2017, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, G!P Clarke, Girl Penis, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Shapeshifting, Squirting, Were-Creatures, WereLion!Clarke, Werewolf!Lexa, really quick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 03:13:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10067963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kendrene/pseuds/Kendrene
Summary: You know exactly what she is at first sight, and it doesn’t matter that an ornate mask conceals the upper part of her face.She recognizes what you are one heartbeat later, nostrils flaring in your direction. You too may as well not have bothered with disguise.You quietly chuckle and despite being on the other side of the ballroom she must have seen you laugh, because she rolls her eyes at you and huffs, clearly annoyed. Perhaps she thinks you aren’t taking her seriously, or maybe she feels challenged. The All-Mother knows how prickly Alpha wolves can be on matters of territory and precedence.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mimillekoishi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mimillekoishi/gifts).



> For Mimille - may your roars always banish the night. 
> 
> ***  
> So I don't exactly know what the theme for today is in ClexaWeek 2017 (I am a tumblr noob and can't find the correct post) but here is my contribution! I do hope you will enjoy.
> 
> As always I treasure your comments and kudos. Can't wait to hear what you think of the spin I tried to put on this.

You know exactly what she is at first sight, and it doesn’t matter that an ornate mask conceals the upper part of her face.

She recognizes what you are one heartbeat later, nostrils flaring in your direction. You too may as well not have bothered with disguise.

You quietly chuckle and despite being on the other side of the ballroom she must have seen you laugh, because she rolls her eyes at you and huffs, clearly annoyed. Perhaps she thinks you aren’t taking her seriously, or maybe she feels challenged. The All-Mother knows how prickly Alpha wolves can be on matters of territory and precedence. 

You smile broadly and, grabbing a chalice from a passing servant, down its contents in one gulp then toss the empty vessel on the floor. People around you uproariously laugh at your callousness, following your example, and soon enough the hall echoes with the sound of breaking glass, much to the servants’ desperation. 

It is the last night of the Karnival, the one day of the year where madness and depravity are sought after and encouraged, reminding you of more savage times that you miss dearly. You bask in the heavy atmosphere, redolent with sex and ready violence.

You watch her reaction from across the room and do nothing to hold back a smirk when she makes a point of putting her glass back on a waiting tray, with eyes glaring emerald daggers in your direction. 

Oh, you will enjoy this hunt you think, and the tightening of your loins is confirmation.

Music starts up, a lively galliard that fills the high vaulted chambers and lifts spirits already buoyed by an overflow of wine even higher. A smiling youth you know by reputation gallantly offers to be your chevalier, and you accept if only because it will bring you closer to the middle of the room and to  _ her _ . 

She has a man of her own wrapped around her arm, or rather around her little finger if the way he looks at her is any indication, but you know this is just a pastime for her as it is for you. If the mortals cavorting around you both, had a glimpse of your true natures, the stampede filling the hall would be of a kind altogether different.

Your dancing partner expertly spins you around, and you lose sight of her for a moment, the room flashing before your eyes in a riot of gilded walls, rich brocades and a sweltering heat that makes ladies more fragile than you lightheaded. 

The Polis Doge’s palace is a splendid affair, a sharp contrast to the man himself, whom you can see even now lean against a wall in austere black and sullen silence. He looks bored, or perhaps irritated at the revelers enjoying themselves around him, incinerating with a stare any woman that dares to look his way. Perhaps illustrious Titus’ tastes lie elsewhere, but you have a hunch the man is just a bitter, withered spoilsport who never really learned how to have fun. 

You dance by him and flash your most winning smile, in reply to which he sneers openly. 

If only he knew how much louder and more threateningly you could snarl back, should you so choose.

The fool dancing with you smiles in your direction, obviously thinking he is winning you over, and the throaty laugh you let loose he definitely mistakes for joy at his company, when really you intend it as cruel amusement at his expense. 

The dance brings you around in tighter and tighter circles and when she comes into your sights again and gracefully glides by, you brush her side with yours purposefully, eyes roaming her exposed cleavage without shame. 

She snarl to which you wink and when her growl grows louder, you lick your lips lasciviously. It is a good thing you decided at the last moment to come in a dress and not give scandal in men’s clothes, as the ample gown best conceals the rising of your ardor. 

Her own dress suits her very well you think, a low-cut corset of shimmering silk of a shade that recalls the color of her eyes, accompanied by a wide gown is a darker hue spun from heavier cloth, perhaps a monument to the untamed forests she surely hails from. The fabric is tastefully embroidered, in threads of gold and silver and you know her eyes would be the same shade if she let her Alpha surface. 

You dance on through the night, drinking your fill of spirits too weak to really affect you and when you let your chevalier pull you close and kiss you, her eyes flash for an instant as she looks on with disgust, or so you’d like to think.

You push him back, a hand on his broad chest and laugh at his disgruntlement, then whirl away just as his questing hand is fisting through your skirts to find you secret heat. 

Noticing she is nowhere to be seen you growl in frustration, then shrug minutely. No matter, tracking prey is part of the fun. 

Your chevalier trails behind you as you hurry down the broad staircase that leads out of the Palace, what he thinks is your true name hot and urgent on his lips. 

You cannot help but laugh again at the thought of what his face would have looked like, if you had let his groping hand find purchase, and he had found himself holding a fistful of throbbing cock instead of the wet depths he had so eagerly been seeking.

He pleads for you to stay, but you ignore him, knowing that he’ll find a whore who’ll suck him dry and do much more if he pays enough. A smirk hangs at the corner of your mouth as you remember how he’d whispered of his fortunes in your ear while you danced. Surely the Collins heir can afford to lose a full purse or two to sate his appetites. The kind of women he likes do not come cheap. 

Outside, the most sensible partygoers are scrambling clumsily onto the lacquered boats that will take them home, the gondoliers reaching out to help those that look more likely to fall headfirst into the sloughy waters of the Main Canal. Others stumble merrily along the maze of narrow streets surrounding the Palace’s square, intent of squandering what little remains of the night away, and soon are lost to view. 

You inhale deeply, and underneath the pitch and tar coming from the shipyard and the acrid smell of salt and rotting seaweed, you scent  _ her.  _ You fill your lungs with her musk, allow it to curl like smoke around your ribs. It stains the ivory of your bones with jet-black soot and you decide she must be yours. 

She will be yours.

You begin the chase at a steady pace, neither hurrying nor holding back, and chastise your heart for beating faster with the thought that perhaps you found one that is your equal. Hope is born inside the hollows of your chest, as hot as a newborn star, but reason and past experiences dim its fires to a small, cold light that fails to illuminate all the empty chambers of your heart.

It doesn’t take you long to catch a hint of green disappearing behind a corner, and you wonder at her leisurely step. Perhaps she never thought you’d follow, but you can’t quell the thrilling thought that maybe she craves to be caught. 

You pick up the pace and turn corner after corner, chasing her deep into the city’s crumbling heart. Each new street is narrower than the last, some so tight your shoulders brush against the brick and mortar of the houses’ walls. Torches are few and far between and as you traverse a patch of utter darkness, you perceive the careful tread of a cutpurse patter softly at your back. 

You stop. 

Yet you do not turn. 

You don’t need to, the low rumble that splits from your chest enough to make the footsteps falter and cease. You feel him or her, standing stockstill a few meters behind you, the reek of sudden fear souring the air. Your growl edges slowly towards a crescendo akin to that of thunder grumbling in the distance before it claps right overhead. The footpad yelps and scurries back and only when the wind rids your nose of his scent, you resume the hunt.

The street you are walking along takes a sharp turn to the left, then abruptly opens onto a small square, bathed in silver moonlight.

You scan the surroundings carefully and, when you realize your prey seems to have vanished, frustration has you click your tongue. You toy with the idea of tracking the idiot that made you lose so much time to tear them limb from limb. 

You take the time to think of your next move, for it is clear to you that this is now a game of chess between the two of you. She must have known it was you who followed, and is playing with you as payback for your own sport at the feast. What piece of the game she is remains to be seen, although you do hope she will be the King to your Queen and not a Knight, to be mounted once and then discarded. 

If you were in your true form, your tail would be whipping the cobblestones in frustration while you prowled deep in thought, but as it is all you can do is take some petty vengeance on a loose stone by kicking it into a corner. 

Then you remember the nature of your quarry and, with a smile that oozes self-assuredness, you rid yourself of the mask you wear, tossing it to the side. The moon strokes your cheeks and you have no doubt it makes you look otherworldly, its revealing light exposing you for the being of legend that you truly are.  

Closing your eyes, head tilted to the distant stars, you let out a frightful roar and stake your claim to this city and its people, daring her to rise to the challenge if she has the nerve.

As a lonesome howl fills the night around you, coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once, you gloat into your dominance and anticipation quakes your bones. 

Expensive brocade tears as your frame is wracked by violent convulsions, your back arching to an impossible angle. The stitchings along your spine pop one by one and the dress falls off your chest in shreds. You are not worried about the money loss, still living off the riches you accumulated in centuries of mortal worship. 

A dry laugh leaves your throat, more of a wheeze really, as muscles stretch and shift around the sound, vocal chords thickening into inhuman form. Memories, ground to fine dust by the passage of time, resurface, of the ancient Pyramids and darker people bending knee to you under an unforgiving sun. Sometimes their offerings were not gold and silver, but rather newborn life, and you never understood why they thought that devouring a mewling child should appease you. Needless to say, you never did. 

Sharp spikes pierce your knees as you hit the pavement with a thud, and you groan, tears of blissful agony streaming down your cheeks. Bones break, marrow boils to steam, blood turns to greek fire into your veins. The ribcage deforms, expands, skin ripping to bloody shreds to accommodate its new shape, then painfully reforming over it, now covered in golden fur. 

Returning to your true form takes only seconds, but for you infinite lifetimes pass, as galaxies are born and die behind your eyelids. 

Finally it’s done, and with one last shake you leave the ruined garments behind, the fluids of your rebirth flying from your pelt in a drizzle of warm rain.

One bound takes you to the edge of the square, sniffing at the cobblestones till you find her trail. Two leaps send you careening down a dirty alleyway, the stench of piss and a hundred unnamed things assaulting your senses. Three leaps and you roar again, running at full speed past a tavern full of revelers. Music falters, laughing stops, and the mortals within are reminded for a moment of what terrors sometimes roam the pitch-black nights, before a lone fiddle hesitantly picks up the tune. 

You have no fear that any of them will chase you, and should rumors of a lion roaming the streets spread at the market tomorrow, people will chalk it up to minds fogged by wine or addled by the opium chips that the eastern clans import within the city.

Her scent grows stronger and you are not at all surprised when your paws lead you across the star-iron bridge that leads to the Island of Trees, where people say the Ones Before first landed from the heavens, and nobody dares to tread. 

The sacredness of the ground seeps within your very core as you first set paw on the island’ soil, the trees around so ancient that the sheer amount of time trapped between their branches sets your teeth on aching edge. 

You let the forest close around you, but now you stalk with care, belly so low it grazes the grass beneath you. This is her domain, her sanctuary and refuge, and despite your godlike status you owe it and her respect. 

The temples you called home have turned to crumbling ruins eons ago, yet you are glad that this creature you are chasing still has a hallowed place of old to call her own.

A flash of movement at the corner of your eye, a wind-like whisper of clawed paws hitting the woods’ floor and despite your care she is upon you, all snarls and flashing teeth.

Her real form is a sight glorious to behold. She is a massive wolf, her fur the warmest, richest hue of brown you have ever seen, golden eyes devouring the waning moonlight.

You square off against one another, circling low, fangs closing on empty air just to prove the other that you can bite and that you will. 

Before you can give start to the obstilities, she lunges forward, claws shredding the space in front of you to ribbons and you jump back, teeth bared to the night’s cool wind. You open your maws wide, in a threatening display of prowess, then leap without a sound and land effortlessly upon her back. 

She is big but you are bigger, and you bear her to the ground, holding her beneath you. Your jaws close upon her scruff, fangs nipping at the flesh beneath, just hard enough to let her know how easy it would be for you to crush her. She freezes, and you are disappointed that an Alpha is giving in so quickly, thinking that you grossly overestimated her.

But with a shake of hips and a clenching of her spine, she throws you off and her claws dig into your side as you tumble away, leaving deep gashes in their wake. 

You curl in upon yourself and, ignoring the scarlet rivulets that matt your pelt, you leap back into the fray at the same time that she does.

A powerful swipe of your paw sends her crashing to the ground in a heap, a second hit makes her reel back, massive head lowered, tongue lolling out between her fangs as she loudly gasps for breath. You jump onto her back again and this time you aren’t kind,  paws bracing her sides as your claws dig in beneath her ribcage. 

You bite the nape of her neck, hard enough to draw blood and she lets out a whine, then stills completely. 

Suddenly you release her, satisfied with the glimpse of surrender she affords you, and in the instant it takes you to leap across from her, you revert back to human form and slowly stand to face her. 

The Alpha wolf flops onto her back, exposing the weakness of her belly, then air shimmers, time contracts and with a wet gurgle she shifts. 

She is even more beautiful like this, breathless and bathed in the grey light of predawn. She watches you warily and when her eyes linger on your firm cock, you grin smugly, enjoying them widen to an endless abyss of gold-streaked jade . 

Wings of confusion beat across the furrows of her brow, and you realize she must not have met your kind before. She sniffs the air testily, clearly searching for the smell of your rut, not knowing that Alpha Weres like you present this way from the moment you reach adulthood. You return her gaze with heated will, and as you catch a shimmer of arousal between her thighs, you place your hands on your hips and laugh. 

She is so wet you could easily mistake her for an Omega if your nose wasn’t telling you different.

You advance and she retreats, and there is a fragile cast in the way she hunches her shoulders that stops you in your tracks. She turns her face away from you, hiding shame, and the way firm muscles writhe under the skin of her back tells you she is torn between fight and flight, trapped within the jaws of her own arousal.

Brown locks open like a curtain as she moves, and the exhale you’re heaving becomes a wet rasp that scratches the walls of your throat like sand. You see the faded scar of a mating bite, and little fractals of familiarity that have gnawed at your guts since the ball come together into a clear picture. 

You dearly wish you’d seen that at the feast. 

You wouldn’t have given chase then, at least not like this. 

The epiphany is a dampener to your desires and your member softens, swaying heavily towards the ground. The wind picks up and, blowing across the small clearing, dispels the scent of impeding sex. She lifts her head and regards you somberly, feeling the shift in mood. 

Crouched at her level, reaching out to touch her is the hardest thing you have ever done. It takes forever for your hand to close the distance, and it feels like spanning a desert instead rather than a scattering of inches.

Surprisingly she lets you, and gentle fingers brush strands of silken hair to the sides, fully exposing her throat. You hesitate, you want to touch her and ease the lonesome agony that dims her gaze to rainy grey, but you are afraid she’ll bolt. 

You will not find her again, and the horror of the thought petrifies you into inaction.

“What are you called?” You breathe the question, as your hand hovers, trembling inches from her creamy skin.

“Lexa,” she husks, voice roughened by the previous mistreatment. 

You think you know her by other names, Badb, Morrigan, Luperca, Hecate, but the first one, the true one is that which forms on the tip of your tongue. It’s stopped there, by a lightning fast press of a single finger over your lips.

She must have read it among the waves of your blue eyes. 

“Please don’t say it.” The quiet desperation confirms your hunch. She wants to forget the earliest part of her eternal life, when lone among all your kinds combined she had the courage to brand a mortal as her mate. Her actions have been judged different ways by different people. some called her brave, others brazen, a few you have met down the years have cursed her for her hubris. 

And you? 

You envy her, for she has walked a length of life’s road in someone’s company, while you have collected a string of one night stands, mortal or otherwise. 

“I am-”

“Sekhmet, I know.” She interrupts and you wince, for that is a name you were known by when your divinity still meant something. 

“Please call me Clarke.” You reply, sitting back onto your haunches.

“Why did you chase me?” She enquires. There is no heat in her voice, but keen curiosity brightens her gaze to the vibrant green of spring.

“I want you.” The answer is as simple as it is complicated, but you have a certainty that lying about your motives will get you nothing if not the spilling of more blood.

“Why?”

“Do I need a reason?”

“Yes.” The heat with which she wounded you is back, inflaming her voice, and she unfurls like a banner whilst she climbs onto her feet. 

You rise to face her, and even as you tilt your chin haughtily, you choose to show your hand and share with her your own weakness. 

“I feel alone,” the truth of it weighs you down, and you know how Atlas must have felt balancing the entirely of the celestial vault upon his shoulders. “I want to be alone no longer.”

It crushes you to say, breaks your pride to pieces, but as she closes distance, arms firmly encircling your waist, you know your smarting ego shall recover. 

You press into each other, cheek to cheek, and you feel tears dampen your skin, but who they belong to, you ignore. 

“ _ Klark _ .” She whispers it against the shell of your ear, and you shiver as her northern accent hardens the name to something savage.

“ _ Leksa _ ,” you drawl out, using her name to caress wily down her back. 

She shivers, pushing firmly into you, and you groan as rippling muscle molds to softer curves. You can’t tell exactly who initiates the first kiss, but it ghosts between your mouths, sparking the ebbing fires of mutual lust into a roaring furnace. 

You force her down, intending to have her lay on the soft grass, but she takes control from you and what she does next leaves you breathless and burning with need.

She kneels to you, worships you, and when her hand closes around the base of your cock your balls tighten in response. Heat coils within your belly as insidious as a sand-snake, and you shake as she nips and licks your abdomen, hand firmly tugging on your shaft. 

You harden so quickly that white-hot pain strikes like lightning down your spine, and have to grasp her shoulder for support. Inhaling deeply does not help, and you can’t fault the beaming smirk you feel her smile in the divot of your hip as she savors the effect she knows she has on you. 

As she licks her way towards your quivering member you lowly growl in warning. She falters, eyes flicking up to meet yours, and you seize the opportunity, wrestling her onto the ground. 

Bodies slicked with sweat collide, sliding against one another, but when you shimmy down between her legs, holding her by her thighs so harshly you’ll leave bruises, she stops struggling, legs falling open at your advance like the gates of Heaven. 

The sight of her glistening sex sets your mouth watering, but you take your time, adoring every inch of her inner thighs with slow licks of your tongue and tender bites. Lexa’s purrs turn to growling demands when you take longer than she likes in your ministrations, and her hands cup the sides of your head, tugging you upward. 

You resist, exasperating her until she finds your ears and twists them painfully, snapping her hips up, her dripping sex brushing against your lips. 

You concede with a laugh and lavish her with open mouthed attention, painting with long strokes of your tongue across her slit. Her vulva parts for you, and when you feel her engorged clitoris scrape your lower lip, you latch onto it, suckling the hot bud into your mouth. 

Your tongue swirls in tight circles around it, her heartbeat throbbing between your teeth, and her growls taper off into gasps, and small, delicious whimpers that tingle down your spine. 

She pumps her hips, demanding more and you acquiesce, the fact that she will soon break beneath you payment enough for your momentary servitude. 

You suck and lick and bite her labia, then slide your tongue against her entrance and as far inside her as it will go. Wet depths greet you, muscles flutter madly against your tongue and her slick is a flooding river that sates a thirst that you didn’t know needed quenching. 

You slurp her juices greedily, her musk filling you until you forget where you end and she begins. And when she comes undone, fingers scraping bloody furrows across your shoulders, you are grateful for the pain that anchors your spirit to the world of men, afraid as you are that the raging tide of her release will drag you under and sweep you away. 

But you are not done, and you barely give her time to draw a gasping breath before you grasp her hips and turn her around, so that she is balancing her weight on hands and knees. 

She lets you do as you please and you love her like this, pliant like this. But you harbor no illusion about her submission being a willing one, aware that if she had a mind to she’ll rend you into pieces and leave you dead. After all she is the only one that managed to make you bleed in all the years you have dragged yourself across the earth.  

You kneel behind her, hand balled into a fist around your cock. You spread your pre-cum along the shaft, pinch the tender skin at the base and hiss as heat shoots up your length. 

Your other hand dips between her thighs and you cup her, sliding two fingers inside her easily. 

“Spread wider,” you snap and she calls your name and lowers herself into your hand. You pump her ruthlessly, thumb flicking her clit, but when her walls begin to collapse shut around you and she is close again you withdraw completely, leaving her leaking and empty.

Lexa whimpers and pushes up, trying to turn and find out why you stopped, but that is when you mount her, grabbing the nape of her neck and pushing her face into the grass. 

You rub the head of your cock across her wetness, slicking yourself further, then push against her smaller starburst, making your intentions clear. There is so much wetness between you that she is primed and ready for the taking.

Pausing briefly, you allow her to refuse, but Lexa pushes her ass back against your swollen tip with a whine, and you give in to your urges, slowly inching inside her. 

“So tight...” you gurgle out, eyes rolling into the back of your head as ardent desire overwhelms you. And Lexa takes you, impossibly tight around your shaft, trapping every inch of you as you descend into her heat, splitting her open as her muscles adjust around your member. 

When you are completely buried into her backside, you pause, a hand circling around her front to tease her breasts. You squeeze the tender flesh and pull her nipples harshly, satisfied when they harden between your fingers. 

“Fuck me…” she cries out, “fuck me Klark.”

You roar and gnash your teeth as your hands dig into her sides, holding her flush against your pelvis, then you begin to rut inside her ass. She is so hot around you that you believe you will catch fire, and if she’ll make your bones run like molten wax, you will gratefully succumb.

You try to pace yourself, and start out slow, but her moans batter at your self-control and you end up rutting mindlessly inside her, aching to shoot your seed into her depths. 

You want to fill her with your cum until she bursts, and when your throat starts aching you think that maybe you have shouted your desires into the brightening skies above you. 

Lexa takes everything you give her, and every sob, every breathless, mewled plea deconstructs you and rebuilds you in her image. 

With one last snap you finish inside her and bottom out, shooting thick ropes of your essence deep into her ass. You scream her name in fervent prayer and when your legs and arms give out, the two of you crash into the fragrant embrace of soft soil, a mess of entwined limbs and gaping mouths.  

She relaxes beneath you as the aftershocks of your orgasm spear through her, and when you feel yourself soften, you begin to pull out, soothing the bruises you have left upon the skin of her back with soft flicks of your tongue and whispered kisses. 

“Don’t pull out yet.” It’s an order, and to enforce it she reaches around, placing a hand on your hip and stilling you.

You nod against her shoulder blade, then wrap both arms around her waist, and somehow maneuver yourselves to a sitting position with Lexa tenderly ensconced in your lap.

She presses her back into your front and when her muscles clench around you, you almost choke on your own breath. She does it again and your hips jerk, your hand sliding between her legs to finger her as you harden inside her. 

Lexa pushes up slightly, then lets herself fall down, willfully impaling on your cock. You yelp, surprise and want thickening your voice to a primal gnarl that makes the last remnants of the night retreat from you in fright.

You breathe down the expanse of her neck and she shivers against you, clenching with anticipation around your shaft. You can almost see the pulse beating wildly under soft skin and you know what she wants, what she desires even more than the bliss of another release. 

Still, you want to hear her say it. 

“Beg.”

“Please,” she growls it out, a stark reminder she will never be completely submitted, and her muscles tighten so viciously around you that it takes the pain of biting into your tongue to keep from spending yourself on the spot. You groan and she clenches again, making your hips cant upwards. 

If you could see her face you’re sure you’ll catch her smirking.

You know how her kind lives to fuck, and breed, and mark its property, and this is where your greatest differences lay 

Fortified by immeasurable pride and steadfast arrogance, a lion doesn’t need a tangible sign to claim what they know already theirs. 

You graze the pulse point with your teeth, causing Lexa to whine in need and you smile secretly against her skin. 

“Say it again. Please what?” The words buzz between you, stinging her flesh like a swarm of bees and she squirms and wails, but is impaled on you and cannot flee her imminent demise.

“Mark me!  _ Beja Klarke! Nau… beja… _ ” She utters in invocation, reverting to a language that is as old as the All-Mother herself. 

You do.

Your teeth pierce the soft flesh of her throat and release comes for you both, right before the tang of copper coats your tongue and a red veil descends over your eyes, blinding you to everything but her.

************************

Much later you come to with a twitch of tired muscles and a weight over your chest, warm and heavy but not at all unpleasant. When you lift up on an elbow and peer down the length of your body, you find the massive she wolf half-stretched across your midriff, muzzle snugly nestled between your breasts. 

She snores and huffs quietly in her sleep, then whimpers softly, maw cracking open and hind legs kicking weakly as she dreams of ancient hunts, and you wonder if Lexa does count sheep to lull herself to sleep.

You chuckle quietly at your joke, and run your fingers through the wolf’s scruff, kneading the back of her neck. Her ears flutter and she blinks, eyes like golden coins focusing on you. She yawns and her tongue flicks out to lick across her fangs. The sun has started to descend towards dusk and you smile into the thought you’ve dreamed the day away with her. 

Awakening has never been so pleasant. 

Lexa nuzzles into your shoulder as you scratch behind her flicking ears, and when she wags her tail at you, you laugh, wild joy warming your insides as summer sun. 

Then your open mouth betrays you and your jaw aches with a huge yawn. The wolf seems to grin at you, then stretches and settles back down against you. You realize she intends to keep you pinned like that for an unknown amount of time, and as she licks your cheek, rumbling softly you notice how her eyes scan your surroundings, never resting on one spot for long. 

She intends to keep vigil as you sleep more, you realize, and whilst you’d like to tell her you can protect yourself, you see the aching need she has to prove that she can shield you, and keep you whole and safe and  _ hers _ , where she failed her other mate.

You will not deny her heart, but you wish to hold her in your arms a little while, and pamper her with the attention which you both eschewed in the fires of your lust, and that she deserves.

“Shift?” You want it to be a quiet order, a tender demand, but what falls off your lips is the gentlest expression of your desire. 

The Alpha wolf meets your pleading gaze with a solemn one, then dips her head and when she turns back to the woman she can be, she chooses the most intimate way to do so. Lexa changes right above you, the air shimmering and bending with the discharge of her power. 

She is so close that you can feel every shift of her muscle, hear every snap of tendon and bone and taste the pain of her transcendence thick against your tongue.

And when she’s done, Lexa collapses over you, twitching weakly, the planes of your chest an altar and she the willing sacrifice.

You cradle her against you, hands stroking her limbs to smooth the spasms away. She tilts her head and noses under your jaw, breathing of you deeply. You do the same, and you are buried in the space between her neck and collarbone, dying the sweetest of deaths a thousand times and all of them willingly. Your hands roam the savannahs of her body, and you know you will spend hours mapping the unknown, but back into your den and away from the prying eyes of the wildlife that even now scurries all around you.

“Do you believe in our divinity?” She asks sometime later, as the last rays of the sun drench your skin and hers in hues of red.

You ponder the question carefully, chewing on your lip a while before replying.

“I think that some mortals need to believe in something to ward off what they can’t explain with reason. It might as well be us.”

“And once their reason will cast light on every mystery? Our names already seldom echo inside their prayers.” 

“Then they will forget us, and perhaps we will owe nothing more to the people of this earth.” You card your fingers through her hair and she licks the column of your neck. Her gesture speaks a pressing question you think she will not ask, but then she gathers herself against you and her whisper sends small waves through the evening’s quiet.

“Will you stay with me?” Lexa asks and there is a trembling hesitancy in her words, so unlike any Alpha you have ever heard speak. 

It makes your chest ache with the iciness of the grave and your heart stutters, momentarily squeezed by invisible tendrils of frost. 

You say nothing of it to her, but swear that if you ever find the one that took her previous mate you’ll bathe in the fountain of their blood. 

“Always.” You murmur and she relaxes against you, lying her head in the crook of your neck, hot breath tickling the underside of your jaw. You look down, and as blue tangles with green, you know you are as lost in her as she is in you. Alphas, equals, yet succumbing to each other in the most exquisite defeat.

And then, because you know her kind and what it craves above all else, you hold her gaze with yours and offer your jugular to the sweet sharpness of her teeth.

**Author's Note:**

> I could not expand that much on the world building, but let me know below if you would be interested in reading more of this AU.


End file.
